The Wickedest Lord Alive (7 page)

She made herself turn and walk away from him with calm, regal grace while her heart beat a wild tattoo in her chest.

Chapter Four

Later that evening, Mr. Huntley’s deep voice rumbled behind her. “Our dance, I believe, Miss Allbright.”

That was all she needed! Lizzie took a moment to compose her features into an expression of happy acceptance before turning to Mr. Huntley.

The clock hands edged their way toward midnight. After this set, everyone would move into the dining room for supper. She was tempted to ask Mr. Huntley if they might sit out the dance, but the prospect of enduring one of Mr. Huntley’s endless monologues was worse than the prospect of waltzing with him.

Preoccupied by her conversation with Lord Steyne and debating with herself about whether to admit to her identity, Lizzie scarcely heard a word Mr. Huntley addressed to her.

“Miss Allbright? Lizzie?”

Her attention commanded, she noticed he seemed to be puffing slightly, as if he’d run a fast mile. Or was he annoyed about something? Lizzie tilted her head in mild inquiry.

“I say, Miss Allbright, I did not think you, of all people, would entertain the attentions of a man with Lord Steyne’s reputation,” said Huntley.

Had he observed their exchange in the refreshment parlor? “The attentions?” said Lizzie. “Why, whatever can you mean, sir?”

“The fellow cannot take his eyes from you,” Mr. Huntley fumed, his hand flicking in the direction of Lord Steyne. “He’s been propping up the wall staring at you for the past fifteen minutes.”

“Has he?” Lizzie fought a stern battle with herself to avoid looking in the direction Huntley indicated. “I cannot think why.”

“Perhaps I shall go over there and remind him of his manners,” said Huntley with a pugnacious set to his jaw.

Lizzie clutched his shoulder harder. “And leave me on the dance floor? Make a spectacle of all three of us? Pray, sir, I beg you will not.”

A low growl rumbled in Mr. Huntley’s throat. “I ought to draw his cork, the rake. Coming here and turning innocent girls’ heads.”

“If by ‘innocent girl’ you are referring to me, sir, then let me tell you, the Marquis of Steyne has not turned my head,” Lizzie snapped. “Please do not glare at him so. You will only create a stir.”

Huntley seemed to exert some effort to master himself. He regarded her for a moment, the hostility fading from his expression. “You are right. But you must promise me you will stay away from him, Lizzie. I know his reputation, and I would not put it past him to make you the object of his evil designs.”

She couldn’t help laughing. “You make him sound like the villain from a melodrama. I am sure he can be no danger to me.”

“That is because you are wholly untouched by vice,” said Huntley. “A young lady like you could never conceive of the depths to which a man like Lord Steyne might plunge.”

She rather wondered if she had a better idea than Huntley about Lord Steyne’s character, but she merely murmured some inanity and let her attention lapse again as Huntley expanded on the subject of her innocence and purity.

If only he knew.

She was acutely aware of the marquis throughout the dance. When their eyes met, as occasionally occurred, a pulse of excitement shot through her. She fought to pay attention to Huntley’s interminable discourse but soon the hot tangle of her worries and speculations swamped her. What would she do about Steyne?

She forced herself to pay attention to Mr. Huntley, who had leaned down as if to speak confidentially. He smelled distinctly of the scented pomade he used on his hair.

“We must count ourselves most fortunate,” he said, “for Mama has mustered all of her resources to be here tonight. Such evenings tax her strength greatly, you know.”

Lizzie murmured, “I trust Mrs. Huntley derives enjoyment from the evening, sir. I wish I could have persuaded Mr. Allbright to attend.”

“She could hardly stay away on such an occasion, much as she might disapprove,” said Mr. Huntley. “I have consulted her at length and taken her objections into account. But a man must make his own decision in such a, er, delicate matter, after all.”

“Indeed,” Lizzie agreed absently, wondering how quickly she might get away. If only she hadn’t filled the evening with dance partners. She needed to be alone, to think.

When the dance finally ended, she extricated her arm from Huntley’s possessive grasp. “Pray excuse me, sir. I must see to a few details before supper.”

When she’d made her excuses to her next dancing partner and ensured all was in train in the dining room, it wanted only a quarter hour until midnight. Lizzie hurried along to the ladies’ retiring room to stare at her reflection in the looking glass.

All the while, her mind was full of her earlier encounter with Steyne. She hated his assurance, his assumption she would fall in with whatever scheme he had in mind. If only she felt indifferent to him, it would be easier to give him what he wanted. But whenever she contemplated being with him, it made something deep inside her ache.

The garden at midnight. That prospect seemed fraught with danger. Her reaction to Steyne’s touch tonight highlighted how susceptible she was to him.

She’d never expected to have a home and a family the way most young women did. She’d resigned herself to her strange in-between state long ago. Perhaps if she’d fallen in love with another man, she might have considered writing to the marquis to beg him for an annulment, though she doubted that would be possible after they’d consummated their union. Would he consider a divorce? The expense and scandal of such a proceeding would be powerful deterrents.

The truth was that since her wedding night, she’d never met a man who came close to touching her heart. It had not been necessary to attempt to cut her tie with the marquis, thereby endangering her freedom. By now, she’d expected him to have done the job for her, had her declared dead or procured an annulment despite what happened that fateful night.

Now that he was here, in Little Thurston, Steyne stirred such strong feelings inside her, she hardly knew herself. Good God, he’d been here less than a day, and he’d shattered her peace.

Refusing him a dance was all very well, but he was not a man who’d be deterred by polite discouragement. Not if he meant to reclaim her as his wife, as he had every right to do. And now he’d tried to blackmail her into meeting him alone in the dark.…

Before she admitted to her identity, she must be sure he didn’t intend to take her back to her father. If he did want her with him as his wife, wouldn’t he have exposed her pretense at Lady Chard’s?

She ought not to meet him if she wished to preserve the fiction that she didn’t remember who he was, or who
she
was, for that matter.

But if she didn’t, would he make trouble for her in Little Thurston? He did not seem to her to be a man who made idle threats. Her reputation in this village was nothing to him, after all.

In the corridor that led from the retiring room, she almost collided with Clare. Her friend took her hand and squeezed it. “There you are, Lizzie. I’ve been looking for you.”

Clare’s eyes danced and her cheeks were rosy, a sure sign that Lord Lydgate had charmed her into a high state of excitement. “Lord Lydgate asked me to waltz.”

“Oh,” said Lizzie. “Well. Congratulations.”

“Is he not the handsomest man you have ever seen?” demanded Clare.

Before she could respond, her friend rushed on. “I do not think much of his cousin, do you? No matter how handsome
he
may be. Lord Steyne has not asked one lady to dance, and he’s barely exchanged two words with anyone besides Lady Chard and the Mowbrays.”

“Most disagreeable,” said Lizzie. “Let us hope his visit is of short duration.”

They were about to enter the antechamber to the ballroom when Lizzie heard a cold, husky voice she recognized at once as Steyne’s. Her hand closed around Clare’s wrist to halt her. She put her fingertip to her lips.

They remained hidden from the antechamber by a heavy velvet curtain, but that didn’t completely muffle the speech that now came to them from the other side.

Without inflexion or heat, Steyne was saying, “… want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.”

Lydgate said, “Do you think to further your cause by doing your usual impression of an iceberg? That won’t wash, you know.”

“I did not come here to exchange inanities with a parcel of country bumpkins.”

Clare gave an indignant squeak, but Lizzie gripped her wrist tighter as a warning to keep quiet.

Lydgate retorted, “Charming! I can see you will win your way into her good graces all too easily.”

“Would you like to wager on the chance that I won’t?” said Steyne in a lazy drawl.

“Make her fall in love with you? I’d like to see that.”

“Lydgate, you’re so naïve.
Love
has nothing to do with it.”

Two ladies overtook Lizzie and Clare and went through to the antechamber then, and the gentlemen were obliged to cease their conversation and return to the ballroom.

“Well, of all the arrogance!” Clare said, eyes bright with anger. “Of whom do you think he was speaking, Lizzie? I did not realize the marquis had acquaintance here.”

Lizzie’s fury bloomed red-hot, like an explosion in her head. She’d not the least doubt to whom Steyne referred. The slight emphasis he’d placed on the word “love” seemed significant. As if he meant that some
other
emotion would have everything to do with his success in charming her. An emotion like—

“Ooh!”
she said.

So, Lord Steyne thought it would be easy to win his way into her good graces, did he? Lizzie’s fan struck her palm with a snap. He could not be more wrong about that.

That overheard conversation decided her. She
would
meet Lord Steyne in the garden at midnight and once she was certain he did not mean to send her back to her father, she
would
admit to her identity.

But if he expected her to fall rapturously into his arms, he was mightily mistaken.

Chapter Five

Xavier had been certain she wouldn’t come. The garden was dark, lit only by a gibbous moon. The denizens of Little Thurston did not run to elaborate hospitality involving Chinese lanterns strung around the gardens. The assembly went on inside, and no one ventured out here into the dark.

The garden was informal and would be a riot of color in the daytime. Now the night leached its exuberance. Moonlight pooled like spilled milk on the paths and the flats of leaves.

He sought a place they might conceal themselves from anyone who might look out a window at an inopportune time.

His intentions toward the lady calling herself Miss Allbright were anything but honorable.

Ah, but that was not true, was it? The corner of his mouth curled up. They were married. He could smooth his hands over that sinuous, slim body with impunity—if not without some protest from the lady herself.

Despite her lack of curves, there was a softness, a natural gentleness about her that he found immensely appealing. She didn’t want for spirit, however, as she’d shown him that afternoon in Lady Chard’s drawing room.

He meant to make her want him, crave him like a man in the desert craves his next drink. It surprised him to discover how very much he wanted her.

He heard the whisper of someone’s steps on the path and turned.

She paused a few feet from him, as if poised for flight. The light from the ballroom limned her tall, willowy frame and made the trembling pearls in her ears gleam and flash.

“I did not think you’d come,” he said as she stepped into a patch of moonlight. Now he saw the expression on her face was determinedly impassive. He had to admire Lizzie Allbright’s steel.

“Why not?” Her lifted eyebrow spoke of unconcern, but the mere fact of her presence told him she was anything but indifferent.

“Shall we sit?” He indicated a stone bench behind them.

“No, thank you.” Her voice was crisp. “Lord Steyne, this is most unconventional, not to say improper.”

“Improper?” he repeated. “But how can that be? I am your husband.”

She stared at him in a convincing display of surprised disbelief. Then she gave an uncertain laugh. “Is this some kind of jest?”

She was a good actress, but not good enough. Why would she be here if she didn’t remember their history?

“I thought you might take that tack,” he said. “The good people of Little Thurston think you lost your memory. You and I know that’s not true.”

“It
is
true.” She gave another laugh, a shakier one this time. “Dear Heaven, if I were married, I’d remember it,.”

“One would think so,” said Xavier.

“But this is preposterous. You are clearly mad.” She spoke the line with enough calm that he knew she’d rehearsed it.

“My dear Miss Allbright, I have all the proof I need to show that you are—or were—Lady Alexandra Simmons, daughter of the Earl of Bute.”

“Good gracious, how high and mighty that sounds,” she said. “No, really, I must tell Miss Beauchamp all about it. She will be in stitches to think that
I
am some noblewoman.”

He moved closer. “Indeed you are. And not just
some
noblewoman, either. You are my marchioness.”

She sobered. “You
are
mad.”

“Undoubtedly,” he said. “But I do have a proposition for you.”

Her hands fluttered as if to ward off both him and his proposition. “Really, my lord, I—”

“My dear Alexandra,” he said softly. “Until now, I’ve been content to let you live your own life. I’ve made you the gift of leaving you be.” He paused. “Now I need something from you in return.”

Her body swayed back a little as if she reeled from a blow. She seemed to catch herself. “You mean … You mean you’ve known where I was all this time?” An admission, but he didn’t pounce on it.

“I knew almost from the first.”

He paused while she digested this. Then he said, “I assured myself that you were safe and content, of course. I would have intervened otherwise.”

She raised her gaze to his. “Then you are not here to take me back to my father?”